


resurrect whatever you want to

by limned



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Dom/sub, F/M, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:49:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limned/pseuds/limned
Summary: She's reading when he finds her.  There would be a very specific reaction if he interrupted, which he sometimes does if he wants that reaction.





	

She's reading when he finds her. There would be a very specific reaction if he interrupted, which he sometimes does if he wants that reaction. But that isn't what he wants now

_(what he needs)_

so Clint rolls down on the bed, careful not to jar it very much, and stretches out to wait. Close but not crowding her. The comforter is soft under his back and he feels intensely aware of every inch of his skin, listening to Natasha's breathing and the way his own is syncing up.

Her hand slides into his hair about a minute later. He doesn't move, but he knows she can hear the change in his inhale. He concentrates on staying very still and matching their breaths again as she cards her fingers absently through his hair, tracing slow patterns against his scalp.

He's lost track of time when he finally hears the book closing. “Clint,” she says, and he blinks his eyes open as Natasha's hand tightens, angling his head up to look at her. There's a tiny smile on her lips, quirking up on one side. “You haven't been this good for a while. What's going on?”

For a few seconds Clint can only smile back at her. Wow. He's gone down a lot harder than he expected. He watches his headspace register, how Natasha’s expression goes sharper and brighter when she sees it.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is already a little hoarse. “I saw something.”

“Did you?”

She gives him that second of preparation before her hand twists tight in his hair, pulling his head back. Her knee presses against his shoulder and he takes a shuddering breath, hands going lax at his sides.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Where?”

“In—in the vents.”

Natasha draws one finger slowly down his throat and he swallows hard, feeling the heat rush to his face. “Why today?” she asks idly, pressing slightly against the pulse point under his jaw. He wouldn’t be too surprised if she could see it fluttering with his heartbeat.

“Making sure they’re okay. No maintenance issues.” Clint swallows again as she drags her nails lightly down the other side of his throat. There’s more to it. He always needs to doublecheck their secure exits when they return from a mission that was even slightly dicey. But she knows that. The Singapore op wasn’t bad enough that she’ll be worried about his state of mind. She isn’t asking him to verbalize every detail of behavior that she already understands. She’s just easing him in.

“All good?”

“Yeah.”

Her hand covers his throat, light warm pressure that just rests there. Clint sighs almost inaudibly and feels himself sinking further down. Natasha’s lips curve into a wider smile when she sees it, her eyes flicking between his face and his throat. “So tell me where you saw it. The something.”

“Tony’s lab. They were already started when I got there.”

“Mmm. Keep going.”

Natasha moves her hand from his throat and starts pressing warm circles across his shoulders with her fingertips. It’s an amazing contrast to the painful grip in his hair that’s still pinning him in place.

“They were…” Clint clears his throat and lets his eyes drift half-shut. He can still feel the spark that hit him when he peered through the ventilation duct and saw the scene that explained the noises. “Bruce had him tied to a chair.”

He’s caught Tony in public tower spaces before, with Bruce and with Pepper and several memorable times with both, because Tony is amazingly indiscreet about where he has sex. Clint wasn’t even reconning the vents for half the occasions.

This time was different, though. This time is the reason his cock is hard enough to pound nails after only a few touches from Natasha.

She reads it in him, of course. “Oh,” she says, her voice dropping lower. “Something new. Tell me.”

It’s easy to talk when she keeps touching him, her hand moving down to his chest, gliding over his nipples. He wants to arch up but concentrates on what he’s been told to do. “Tony was freaked out. Bruce was sucking his cock and he was twitching all over the place, and sweating, and his face didn’t look right. I didn’t know what… he looked scared. It was only a few seconds but I almost got ready to break in and stop them. It didn’t seem like Tony could say much.”

“What changed?” Natasha’s voice is quiet. He shivers involuntarily when she scratches careful lines along his ribs.

“Bruce stopped. Started talking to him.” Clint can hear his voice getting hoarser, quieter. “They… I could see Tony’s hands. They used cable ties. I could see how they were attached to his wrists. Bruce had hooked wire clippers in the loops so he’d only have to squeeze them and Tony would get free.”

“Tony couldn’t do it, though.”

“No,” Clint says.

He can see it in his mind, the way Tony strained desperately against the handcuffs, every muscle in his shoulders standing out. He can hear how Tony was panting so hard he was almost hyperventilating. It looked bad right until Bruce stopped and went up on his knees, touching his forehead to Tony’s. _It’s okay, Tony. You’re with me. Stop trying to fight me, you know I won’t hurt you._ And the way Tony leaned in and Bruce smoothed his hands over Tony’s shoulders and arms, careful and slow.

He doesn’t mean to do it this fast but suddenly he’s shivering all over, pressing up into Natasha’s hand over his stomach. “Please, Nat,” he whispers.

Her eyes are so sharp on his face. She slides her hand and pinches his left nipple hard enough that he’s whimpering, trying to not move, and his brain is on fire because she hasn’t moved at all from where she was leaning against the headboard when he found her, but she’s still taking him apart.

She only makes him wait for a few more seconds before she says, “Push them down. Not off, Clint. Just down.”

He scrambles to do it so fast that he accidentally moves a few inches away, quickly shifting back after he shoves his pants down to his thighs. Right now he can’t imagine anything worse than Natasha not touching him. She resets her anchor grip in his short hair and he sucks in a fast breath, trying to center himself.

“Tell me what happened next.”

Clint’s so hard that he can feel his cock leaking against his stomach. “Bruce kept talking. He talked Tony through it, got him to calm down. He said… Tony wanted this, asked for it, he wanted to get past being scared of it. I think maybe it was from Afghanistan. He hadn’t been tied up since then. Bruce got him to focus and they kept going and—god, it was—” He breaks off with a helpless sound, twisting under her hands because he can’t hold it back anymore.

Natasha leans down and he feels her breath warm on his cheek. “Put your hands behind your back.”

Clint folds his arms underneath him and links his fingers together. He can’t think, can barely breathe, feels like the world has narrowed to Natasha’s eyes, her hand in his hair and the tight aching beat of his cock.

Then she moves for the first time since he came into the room. He chokes back a moan as she shifts on the bed and reaches to circle the head of his cock with only her thumb and first finger. “Nat,” he gasps. “I need it, I need it, please—“

“You get what I give you." Her body is pressed against his side and he’s fighting every reflex to keep his hands behind his back. His cock is leaking enough that she’s pulling a circle of wet back and forth as she strokes him slowly. “Tell me.”

“Bruce was taking care of him. He was taking care, he was giving Tony what he needed.” Clint’s voice is so raw that he wants to curl up and hide, but he can’t. He feels like his heart is being pulled halfway out of his chest, straining like he’s flayed open, like every nerve ending is connected to her eyes and the small circle of her hand around him, to how much he needs her. “Please, please let me, I can’t—“

She cuts off his begging with a kiss that takes the rest of his words while her hand tightens down, and he isn’t aware of anything else for long shaking minutes.

.

He doesn’t surface enough to function until she’s finished cleaning up and made him drink some water. But he knows it’s okay, that he doesn’t need to do anything right now. Her hand resting on his neck and the way she curls around him. He knows it's okay.


End file.
